Hollywood
by Hitome-Chan
Summary: There's something to be said about Hollywood, it ain't all high fashion and movie stars, sometimes, there's something real, Ichigo finds that out the hard way. Ichigo/Toshiro AU


_**Hollywood**_

**Author's Notes: **Well, as my newest fiction comes to a close I figured I'd write a oneshot, and this one is going to stay a oneshot, I made sure of that. Anyway, please enjoy, read, review, love, hate, just feel something towards it. Also, I have trouble with happy fiction, I apologize.

**Summary: **There's something to be said about Hollywood, it ain't all high fashion and movie stars, sometimes, there's something real, Ichigo finds that out the hard way. Ichigo/Toshiro AU

* * *

There's something to be said about the movie industry. Sure, there were cameras, and there was the glam life and the rich lifestyle itself, but there was also the unbelievable reality to it all. Underneath all the glamour there was just another dirty city by the name of Hollywood, under all that celebrity there was nothing but bullshit and human. A lot of the times you could hardly distinguish between the two.

But Ichigo was young, and the world around him was so unreal, so utterly imaginary that he couldn't believe this was really happening to him. See, he was an art student, majoring in film. He wanted to be a producer, or a director, or an actor. SOMETHING to do with motion pictures, it was his calling, he longed to be in front of or behind the camera. So when one of his screenplays had actually been picked by a major producer by the name of Aizen Sosuke Ichigo had become almost comatose with excitement.

And it was all a dream, in both quality and function. Ichigo tried his damndest to remain calm, but he was excited.

"I'm so fucking excited!" He said, and Aizen gave him a smile. Ichigo was so young, with his exuberant eyes still shining with hope and Aizen wondered how long he would make it in this business that spit you out as soon as they were no longer entertained by you, if you wouldn't dance they wouldn't pay. Ichigo was relatively tall for a guy of just twenty-two, not as tall as Aizen mind you, but he was tall. He had vibrant orange hair and dark brown eyes likened to chocolate. Aizen on the other hand was a handsome man, not that Ichigo wasn't, in fact he was quite attractive, but Aizen was the kind of attractive that was effortless, he was the kind of attractive that kept the pretty young girls flocking to him even though he was getting progressively older, aging better than any wine ever had.

But that was neither here nor there, back to Ichigo. He had never fancied himself a writer, not really, he piddled around and his friends told him his stuff was good, but he told them they didn't have to bullshit him, that they were already his friends and if they thought he was a shit writer they just had to say it. He laughed at that now. It was all so extravagant, this set was built exactly like he'd imagined it when he'd written his script, everything was down to the last detail.

"I'm glad you like it," Aizen said in his smoke smooth voice. "We built it before we even flew you out here, I hope you like the crew as much as you like the sets." And Aizen smiled and Ichigo couldn't help but smile back, I mean, he was just really fucking excited. It had seemed like nothing had ever really gone his way, he and his parents and his sisters were poor as dirt so he could hardly afford to go to school let alone help pay the bills back home, and he'd never really been too good with sports or bands so there weren't really very many scholarships out there for him. But this, this was something he had been waiting on all his life.

Then, everything stopped. "Oh good," Aizen said, but Ichigo was only blinking slowly. "This is Toshiro Hitsugaya, we're casting him as Gideon, if you don't mind." Ichigo only nodded, and nodded, and nodded, and nodded. He wasn't sure what was wrong with his head, but it was stopped by a finger from Toshiro, who held his digit to Ichigo's forehead.

"Nice to meet you," Toshiro said, but the way he said it was so unaffected, so carefree. Then the boy pulled his arm back and reached into his front pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Smoke?" He asked but it wasn't like he really cared, instead he grabbed the butt of one of his cancer sticks and placed it in his mouth. The reason it felt like time was standing still was one of two things, one, Ichigo was still reeling from the freshness of it all, and two, well two was the real reason. Two, Toshiro Hitsugaya was quite possibly the most famous human being on planet earth.

He had been the star in the past five action flicks to hit the silver screen, each of them all grossing over 25 billion dollars in the box offices. So to say Ichigo was star struck might have been an understatement. Toshiro Hitsugaya, the world's youngest billionaire, Toshiro Hitsugaya, praised by everyone—EVERYONE—for his acting prowess. Toshiro Hitsugaya made Johnny Depp look like a Youtube flunkie. Toshiro Hitsugaya put Audrey Hepburn's acting to shame, and her celebrity as well. Toshiro Hitsugaya did not so much as get offered parts for movies as movies were written for Toshiro Hitsugaya to star in.

Plus he was really cute, but that might have just been a perk. Ichigo blinked again. "Is he alright?" Toshiro wondered to Aizen, who clapped the young budding writer on the back.

"Don't worry about him, I'm sure it isn't everyday he gets to meet people with your type of fame." Aizen said smiling. Toshiro puffed on his cigarette for a moment, the curling tendrils of white effervescing up into the sky, rolling like waves off the sea if they could defy gravity.

"Oh." He said, then he took another long drag on his cigarette before he dropped it on the ground and snuffed it out. "Well then, I'm sure we'll talk again, Mister—eh—Kurosaki was it?"

"Y—yeah." Ichigo managed. Toshiro retrieved another cigarette and lit it.

"Right." He said and then walked off. Aizen was still smiling thirty seconds after Toshiro was nowhere in sight. He clapped Ichigo on the back again.

"Let's make a movie kid."

* * *

Things were going swimmingly. The movie was wonderful so far, moving, action packed, a thriller with unexpected romances, and before Ichigo had never known exactly how long it took to actually _make _a movie. His was purported to being two hours long, and already half a year had passed. Of course he'd had to go home a couple of times, his mother and father still hardly believed any of what was happening, but they were always happy to see him. His sisters were as well, and his best friends were always happy to see him. He would hang with Chad, and subsequently Ishida who was never far from his rather tall half-Mexican half-Japanese friend. Then there was Rukia and Orihime, both of whom would shower his success in praise by way of treating him to his favorite restaurant. He would laugh, and have a good time, but afterwards would come the next good-byes, the good-byes were always difficult only because he had to say them so many times, every couple of months he'd find himself going through the routine of good-bye and it was positively frustrating to leave family and friends behind.

But then he would get back to California from his home in Utah, and he would have to readjust to the warm weather all over again. It never ceased to amaze him how he could go from the misty cool of his forested home state to this nearly blistering heat, the asphalt multiplying the warmth tenfold. Ichigo took his hoodie off, the plane had been cool and air-conditioned, but now that he was properly outside there was no need for the damned thing. He looked around, there was supposed to be a car picking him up…

He spotted it a few feet away. But the only thing that made that car, which was an all white Jaguar C-X75, stand out was the person sitting on the hood, absently smoking a cigarette and looking completely unaffected by the weather around them, or the fact that people were beginning to flock around him and about a billion camera flashes that might have blinded a lesser man were going off. Ichigo made his way towards Toshiro, who turned his Oakley sunglasses blocked vision on him. Then the guy on the hood got up and got into the front seat of his car, and Ichigo just stared like the rest of the fan for a minute before the horn was honked rather viciously. Ichigo jumped and got into the vehicle with all of his bags seated in his lap.

Then the engine was revved and the orange haired young man found himself a bit taken aback by the sound of it, most people liken the sound of an engine turning over to the sound of some big cat, or said that it purred, but this engine didn't purr, it roared ferociously, it growled predatorily, this car could _eat _other cars if it so chose to, and the mere sound of touching the gas let the lesser, weaker prey of The Highway know that. The crowd dispersed at the sound of Toshiro's car coming to life and then, instantaneously, they were flying forward. It amazed Ichigo that the airport traffic wasn't bad, in fact it was positively minimal.

"Thanks for picking me up," Ichigo said after a little while.

"Aizen asked me to, doesn't really trust hiring people." Toshiro said simply, and Ichigo wondered if that was as close to a 'you're welcome' as he was going to get. The thing was, Ichigo was only slightly staring. Toshiro in his plaid shirted, low cut skinny jeaned glory looked almost like anyone else, except that his aura was completely inhuman. Not in a bad way, mind you, just, that he was_ more _than human, that he was some sort of meta-human. Ichigo thought how stupid that was though, and Toshiro took a turn at a frightening speed, the car not so much of bumping along.

"I'm, uh, a big fan of your work." Ichigo said after another spiel of silence. "I really liked Dark Days."

"That movie was shit," Toshiro said, holding the steering wheel with one hand and his cigarette with the other, blowing the smoke out of his nose and mouth at the same time. "Premise was shit, filming was shit, acting was shit." He slowed a bit as he merged into more traffic and though there was more traffic it still wasn't what Ichigo had expected, there was supposed to be tons of cars on the road, where was the five o'clock roadblock?

"I—I didn't think so," Ichigo thought aloud. "I mean, from an artistic point of view I thought it had a really good quality, and the moral was pretty deep: no matter how horrible things get, we're all just human right? With similar situations and ailments." He was surprised to see a snarky smile touch Toshiro's lips then, in the past six months that he'd been working on this film with Aizen's crack team he'd not gotten to know the actors very well, instead he just kind of hung around the camera crew and the behind the scenes people. Which was why it was doubly surprising that Toshiro had picked him up.

"As pretty as that is," Toshiro said, inhaling toxic air and then exhaling white smoke. "it's still crap. Yeah, we're all humans, but our horrible isn't the same horrible as say, some kid over in Malaysia, or Sierra Leone, or Ghana, or even some people here in America." He said. "We sit on our asses, making shit movies for a stupid republic who eats it up and preaches how powerful the messages are, and then they go home, and they eat their high calorie food, and they get fat, and they come see our next shit movie, and they say the same thing."

Ichigo stared. Even as Toshiro was saying it he still looked unaffected. Detached. Gone. There was nothing like the Toshiro Hitsugaya he'd seen in countless movies, there was no heart-wrenching emotion, there was plenty of depth sure, but Ichigo was afraid if he treaded that water he would drown three seconds in. "But, you can't expect us to save the world," Ichigo said.

"You're right," Toshiro replied. "which is why it sucks, right? We might be famous, but our money is limited. Not like the politicians, not like the presidents and prime ministers, and the world leaders, but there's an order, and no matter how famous we get there's not too terribly much we can do about it."

"I—I'm sorry you feel that way," Ichigo said. "I still like your movies though," He added.

After a while the driver said, "Thanks, Ichigo." Toshiro smiled a bit less smarmily, and he looked over at the orange haired youth. "I didn't mean to unload like that on you, I was on the phone with my agent before I picked you up, they're not going to let me on Leno tonight because they're afraid I'll say something too controversial." Controversial. Ichigo nodded, Toshiro was rather private about his home life, all he ever really let the media see was him donating to umpteen charities right and left, and yet somehow continuing to make millions upon millions of dollars. When asked, once, about an alleged relationship Toshiro had replied, 'Instead of worrying about my private life, why not worry about Darfur?' and then slammed a restaurant door in the face of the paparazzi.

"You're a really cool guy, you know? Always giving away to people who are less fortunate." Ichigo said, and he knew he was less fortuned, but not as much as some people, so he didn't complain. They were on the city streets again and Toshiro pulled the car into a parking lot and stopped, just stopped right in the middle of the parking lot.

"I'm not a cool guy Ichigo," Toshiro said. "In fact I'm as bad as they are, I give money out of guilt, a guilt that isn't rightfully mine to feel. I didn't put those countries in the states they're in, but like a lot of the peace mongers that I say I'll never become I try to force other people to believe it's our fault. Our fault for being prosperous when others have little, and I can't blame the American people for that, or our English cousins, or anyone. But, I just—even if it isn't our fault, we could still try to help, we don't have to give a lot, sometimes even just a smile, or a hug to let our brethren know everything's going to be alright." Then the car thundered back to life and he was pulling back onto the road. Ichigo didn't know what to say.

That was the first time he'd spoken to Toshiro about anything, and it had all stemmed from him liking his movies. He wouldn't speak the to man again for a long while after that, life would get hectic for him.

"Ichigo, they're _this _close to shutting us down." Aizen told him one day.

"What? Why?" He asked.

"Apparently Rangiku, the one playing Nadia, went on a bender last week, and the company sponsoring us really doesn't want to be associated with that kind of behavior." He sighed. "Can you go tell her to keep it under control, at least till this production is over?"

"Me?" Ichigo asked. "But—"

"Ichigo, these are _your _actors, how they act outside of your movie still reflects harshly on all of us, but most especially on you, because you would allow such people in to be in your movie." Aizen said chidingly, as if her were explaining something really simple to a child. "Make sense?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess." Ichigo said and Aizen smiled and said good, and then turned him towards the dressing room trailers. So Ichigo went to the trailers and he knocked on the one marked "Rangiku Matsumoto" and wondered if that was her real name or a stage name. When the door opened he was met by a medley of things, one, very loud classical music, he'd just come at the end of a complicated arpeggio, what was surprising was that the music blasting through her stereos at rock volumes. The next thing that hit Ichigo was the strongly scented perfume that poured out of her trailer, it was flowery and made his eyes water, but that was probably minimal compared to what he saw next. Behind her was the same man that had begun to develop a very unhealthy crush on, Toshiro Hitsugaya, his head was lolled back and there was a half snorted line of white powder on the glass table he was seated in front of.

"Can I help you?" Rangiku asked, her eyes bloodshot and her breath was sweet, ample cleavage was Ichigo's first focal point, but only because her breasts were almost literally hanging out of the loose top she had on. Ichigo had always thought that Rangiku was rather slim to have such a large bosom, but he never said anything.

"Yeah—um. Can I talk to you?" Ichigo asked, and her eyebrow shot up, she smiled.

"Sure, come on in." And she took his hand. Once inside Ichigo noted how the trailer was more like just a big living room-slash-kitchen, only there was a bed in it. There was a TV buzzing against the wall and raised off the floor, and there was a small kitchenette to the very end, a couch, which Toshiro was draped against, his nose bleeding slightly, and of course the bed. Rangiku sat on that.

"Well, Mrs. Matsumoto—"

"_Misses_." Rangiku corrected. "_Ms._ Rangiku Matsumoto." She had been called the Marilyn Monroe of our generation, sultry, seductive, and she'd probably had more than one affair with a number of presidents. Rangiku was a powerful woman, even if she was just an actor and a model, people liked her, even with her vices she still had a personable way of being. She, like Toshiro, was a presence much bigger than Ichigo had ever come in contact with. They were larger than life, and having been in Hollywood for the past six month Ichigo realized they were even larger than the menagerie of celebrities that Ichigo had met as well. "Sit beside me Ichigo."

So Ichigo sat beside her. "Ms. Matsumoto,"

"Call me Rangiku." She smiled.

"Rangiku." Ichigo said and the word tasted like a spell on his lips, left them tingling, she grasped his arm lightly and Ichigo grew uncomfortable. "Listen, Rangiku, I—uh—I wanted to ask you if you could, you know, keep the partying down till after the movie? We almost got dropped by our sponsor."

Her beautiful face took on stony quality. "I'll do no such thing!" She said.

"But—"

"Ichigo, you've never worked with me before, so I'll let this slide one time, but if you want quality work you have to let your workers have their freedoms. Personally, my "partying" should make you elated, when I'm out there its more publicity for your movie, and I always come to work sober." Then she wiped her nose. "Well, almost always."

"Rangiku," Toshiro rolled his head towards them. "he said no more, and he's the boss." Ichigo looked into Toshiro's eyes then, and he saw nothing reflecting back at him, for a brief moment there was no core to the young actor at all, then he blinked, and locked his gaze with Ichigo's, and he blinked again and his eyes were right again, still a little hollow from the drug, but there were flecks of himself in there again.

Ichigo stood up then, because Rangiku had agreed after Toshiro had reprimanded her, and he made his way out of the trailer and he closed the door, and he made it ten feet, and he puked.

* * *

"How can you expect me to let you get away?" The rain fell silently, tears of an anguished god, hitting the ground and breaking into different drops of water. There were a million raindrops, each one could represent a person on earth, and their descent could rival the fall of society, but he wasn't thinking about that, no, not with his gun still smoking and another bullet in the chamber. She smiled at him, that same morose, dead smile she'd had on her face since she'd killed his best friend, her lover.

"Because _he _would have let me get away," She said, her eyes as dead as her smile. Her beautiful blonde hair was matted to the sides of her gaunt face, and she blinked once, hazel pupils covered by eyelashes that had once been thick and lush, but were now as uncared for as the rest of her. And she shivered because of the wind, and she breathed hot breath into the air, steam rising out of her mouth. "Because your love for him and his love for me will let me go."

And he let his arm drop, still fingering the trigger of the gun. Then she leaned forward in the rain and she kissed him, full and hard on the lips, leaving the same ruby red lipstick against his mouth that she'd left against the side of his friend's forehead before she put a gun against the side of his face and blew his brains out. The image of those same brains splattered across their small apartment still haunted this man, and his breath hitched when she pulled away. Then she turned, the long, dirty gown she wore was nearly see through, and clung to her supple curves as she walked away, her heels clip-clopping against the pavement of the Chicago streets.

For a breath he thought he was going to let her get away, then he found himself raising his gun, and he pulled the trigger. "Good-bye, Nadia." He breathed, and he watched her hit the ground, her blood cascading high into the sky, mixing with the rain water and then washing away, and he placed the hot barrel against the side of his head and he pulled the trigger.

"CUT!" Mayuri Kurotsuchi yelled and his mobile camera rolled him backwards. "Let's take it to the lab and finish this damn thing!" Ichigo was impressed, the ending scene was exactly like he'd pictured it, in fact, very few liberties were taken and the thing hardly deviated at all from his original vision. Today had been the last day of filming, a full year and a half after it had begun. Ichigo was, to say the least, proud of what had just happened.

"The Independent Film Festival is going to eat this up," Aizen said to him with a cup of coffee in his hands. "I can see it already, Oscars, Emmys, red carpet premiers, these are the kinds of movies I live to make." He smiled. "And you, you're going to be famous."

Ichigo smiled. "I'll just be happy if anyone likes it,"

Aizen sighed. "I wonder how long your modesty will last in this industry," He laughed, and then he walked away to congratulate a few of the other actors. Someone tapped Ichigo on the shoulder and he turned around, it was Gin Ichimaru, Aizen's personal assistant.

"The afterparty is going to be held in The Grove at around eight, there will be a car to pick you up at seven, dry cleaning was sent to your room about an hour ago try not to spill anything on yourself or tear it in anyway, Marc Jacob would very much like to receive this suit back in one piece, let's see, Rolex sent you a watch to wear, and Versace wants you in their sunglasses so if it gets too dark just fold them up and put them in your jacket pocket with the label facing outwards."

Ichigo barely had time to nod before Gin was walking away, then Ichigo sighed. His phone rang. "Hello?"

"CONGRATULATIONS!" Was the chorus sung on the other end of the line. He couldn't count all the voices, but he smiled regardless. "Sweetie!" His mom yelled. "They're going to fly us out for the premier! All of us! On a lire jet!"

"That's great mom," Ichigo laughed. "I can't wait to see you guys,"

"Hey! Let met talk!" The sound of Rukia taking the phone next made him chuckle. "You listen to me Ichigo Kurosaki, if we come out there and you've changed in some way I'll make sure to beat you back to your original self!"

"I'll keep that in mind, Rukia." He said smiling.

"Ichigo! I'm so happy for you!" Orihime chimed in, and his other friends were there as well, Keigo, Mizuhiro, Tatsuki, everyone. For a moment Ichigo felt a tear touch his eyes, but he wiped it away and talked to whomever took the phone next. Finally, after a twenty minute phone call, he hung up. He found a seat and took it, closing his eyes and sighing.

"Little overwhelmed?" He looked up and was met by the nearly white pupils of Tosen Kaname, the make-up was unsettling because the character Tosen had played had been a blind man. Tosen was an unbelievably attractive man, tall and built, with skin darker than chocolate and gorgeous dreadlocks pulled back tightly into a ponytail. He took a seat next to Ichigo and smiled at him.

"Yeah, it's all so unbelievable still."

"The best thing you can do," Tosen said. "Is to never let that novelty wear off. Let everyday you're here, every time you write a script that gets picked up, or even every acting gig you get, be a new experience." He looked off. "Because that way, you'll always love what you do."

"Thanks." Ichigo said, smiling. Tosen was a humble man, he didn't live in a huge house like a lot of the other stars, his home was in no means meager though, it was comfortable and had enough room for himself and his wife and their three children, and though he wasn't as famous he had a faithful fanbase and a large number of high grossing movies, some were still in theatres even then. Then Tosen stood up and clapped Ichigo on the shoulder.

"I want to thank you for allowing me to work in your film," He said, still smiling. Ichigo was taken aback by that, he blinked his surprised eyes as he stared into those of Tosen's currently blind ones, and then he nodded. "Yeah, no problem. I mean, you're a great actor. Thank you for being in my movie." Then he was handed something.

"Give me a call if you ever want me to work in anything else, I have a feeling this one's going to win a lot of awards." He said and waved, heading off to the make-up chairs to get his face back into proper order. Ichigo looked at the card in his hands, it was the Tosen Kaname's personal number. He pocketed it quickly, afraid that it might catch fire or something from him holding it too much. Then he leaned his head back and he sighed.

* * *

Ichigo found out that night that he would receive a lot more numbers, his phone was soon almost too filled with celebrities, and musicians, and news anchors, and editors that he was afraid the meager fifteen numbers he'd had in there before would get suffocated. Suffocated like him, he hated wearing suits, and though this one was nice in its all black and pleated pant splendor, he kept pulling at the tie to allow himself to breathe a little better. There were toasts and speeches going around, and people were always putting him and Aizen and Mayuri in the same sentence, 'I'd like to dedicate this to the fabulous producer Aizen Sosuke, who only gets younger as he gets older—ladies you'd better watch yourselves, soon it'll be considered statutory to touch him,' Here there was hearty laughter. 'And the brilliant and eccentric Mayuri Kurotsuchi, who's artistic vision can be rivaled by none. And of course, Ichigo Kurosaki, who, being a grad student, is unbelievable in his writing, when I read the script I thought that it was one of the long-since-been-here executives but no, in fact, it was that young man, can we give these gentlemen a round of applause?'

And there was a round of applause. Ichigo decided after that that he didn't like champagne, and instead sipped on Dr. Pepper for the rest of the night. When it all became too much, the atmosphere, the brilliant white smiles, the speeches, the toasts, Ichigo stepped outside in the muggy night air of L.A. The moon was high in the sky tonight, and not too far away he could see the beach. So he kicked off his expensive shoes and he walked over to the beach, not sure if it were manmade or not, but he found that as his toes curled in the sand he didn't so much care.

"You know," Toshiro's voice ran down Ichigo's spine like electricity. He turned to see the young mogul standing there, smoking and barefoot, his pants legs rolled up but still slightly wet. "I don't normally let people on my beach."

"You own this beach?" Ichigo wondered.

"No." Toshiro said swaying and he took a puff, he was drunk. "but I come here when I'm tired of the bullshit going on in there." He exhaled.

"I don't think I've ever seen you without a cigarette offstage," Ichigo said. "Except for—" Then he stopped himself.

"Except for when? When I was coked up in Rangiku's dressing room?" Toshiro asked.

"Yeah." Ichigo replied. "Toshiro, substance abuse is—" Then the actor was laughing, a beautiful sound, a real gut laugh, not like the ones that were in movies that were so prim and proper, but one that came from within. He smiled at Ichigo for the first time ever and Ichigo felt his heart hammer.

"Substance abuse?" Toshiro asked. "No, no. I don't abuse the substances, I use them as they're intended."

"Why?" Ichigo asked and he wanted to walk forward and pull that cigarette out of Toshiro's mouth, and to replace it with his own, and he wanted to push him on the ground and mess up his Marc Jacob suit, and to rip and tear whoever Toshiro was wearing off of his body. Ichigo instead licked his dry lips and said. "Why?" again.

"Because," Toshiro said, all signs of his laughter gone. "I can. Because I'm expected to."

"What?"

"Ichigo, they want us—stars—to provide the drama in their lives they so desperately cling to, and it feels good. It feels like something when I'm high, not that pussy high that kids get when they smoke marijuana, but an actual high, a self above myself, soaring into nothing but sheer bliss, that's what I feel, and the cigarettes, well I just like the way they burn."

Ichigo glared. "That's stupid."

"What's your point?" Toshiro countered. "We live in a stupid world."

"Could you, just for one second, be optimistic?" Ichigo shouted. "Just one is all I'm asking! There are a lot of things out there that are bad yes, but why is it that every time I talk to you I feel like you're not berating the world, you're berating yourself and using the world as an excuse?"

Toshiro blinked, and he took a drag off his cigarette, and he looked out at the ocean, and Ichigo hated to say it but he looked beautiful with the moonlight shining through his hazy smoke and highlighting his milky complexion. "Why do you care?" Toshiro asked in a very quiet voice.

"Because…" Ichigo said. "Because—because I like you Toshiro, I do, I think you're beautiful."

Toshiro smiled sardonically. "Gee, thanks." He said monotonously. "That really isn't a reason to like someone, because you find them aesthetically pleasing."

"Well, it isn't just that," Ichigo said, and Toshiro looked over at him for what felt like the first time, his eyes unguarded and raw. "I think you're hiding away in there, in your shell, I think the fame became too much for you and you started doing things the way people wanted you to do them, instead of how you want to do them." The shorter man—the actor, who averaged about five-five—looked down on the ground, wriggling his toes in the sand.

Then he went forward and he grabbed Ichigo's hand. "Come with me," He said. "I have something you need to see," and Ichigo's heart began hammering in his chest, he pulled him along the beach for a ways, then they came to a small alcove, and Toshiro pulled him in there. "I like to come here to think," He said. "This place is invisible during the high tide, the water washes over it and people don't normally come out through this way."

Ichigo just nodded, wondering why Toshiro would bring him here. Then the shorter man pulled Ichigo down into a kiss and Ichigo melted into it, using all his air in one breath. He pulled back, but Toshiro's lips were searching for his, and when he went back again he noticed how wet the kiss was, and he realized Toshiro was crying. He pulled back again and looked into the white haired actor's face as fat tears rolled out of his eyes and Toshiro looked much younger than his twenty-three years purported. Ichigo kissed each tear as they fell from his eyes and Toshiro wrapped his arms around Ichigo's neck, pulling them down to the floor.

They met again and the sound of the waves crashing outside seemed to beat to the same tempo as their kisses, hard and powerful. Ichigo fumbled with Toshiro's shirt, but eventually he got it open and was dipping his head into that beautiful alabaster colored skin, tasting salt of tears and the sweat of Toshiro's flesh, he licked and bit and loved every last inch of it that he could before crushing his lips against Toshiro's lips again.

Their moaning was amplified by the hollowness of the alcove they had ducked into, but was drowned outside by the sound of the sea and thus refracted back to them, making it even louder. Soon they were both naked, and Ichigo didn't know how it had happened, but he wasn't complaining, staring down at the nude man underneath him. Toshiro reached up and bit Ichigo's lip slightly, sucking on it till it felt numb and then split it open with his own mouth. "Fuck me." He nearly screamed, clawing at Ichigo's back and willing him down, willing him in. Ichigo nodded dumbly and positioned himself at Toshiro's pulsating entrance, and he knew he had no lubrication but the man under him wasn't going to wait to be prepared properly.

"Are you sure?" He asked and Toshiro answered for him by pushing his hips forward and nearly swallowing Ichigo's member whole, the young writer convulsed once and then kissed Toshiro again, beginning his slow movements. "I'm sorry," He said at the look of pain on the older, short man's face, there were no words that escaped out of Toshiro's mouth, only silent curses or prayers Ichigo wasn't sure which. But he continued in, feeling blood dribbling out of his current counterpart and finding that he hated himself for doing it so roughly.

Toshiro was pleading in his ear. "Please, faster." He said, still crying hot wet tears and making jerky, jumpy motions with his hips, trying desperately to meet Ichigo's slow thrusts. Ichigo picked up speed, rhythmically slapping his flesh against Toshiro's now and offhandedly worrying what Gin would say about how dirty his suit had gotten, but his mind was pulled back in full fledged to what he was doing when Toshiro gasped sharply. "Right there," He mewled, "right there Ichigo." Except he said it like, "I-chi-go!" punctuating every syllable.

So Ichigo attacked that spot, keeping his speed and pushing forward, losing himself more and more in the sinful body of the popular actor, who at the moment couldn't be bothered to act, and was reeling in mind numbing pleasure. Toshiro was kissing Ichigo again, and he was jerking his hips frantically, and Ichigo was sweating and shivering from the cold misty spray of the ocean water behind them, and everything was about to happen at one time.

"I'm—" Was all Toshiro could get out before he came, thick goblets of genetics spurting between the two of them stickily, Ichigo wasn't long behind him, pulling out because he was sure Toshiro didn't want him to climax inside of him, he shot his load on the sandy ground, grunting out Toshiro's name. They kissed again, and then they sat together for a moment, a tangle of limbs. Ichigo couldn't believe that this had happened either, he wasn't a virgin, not really, he'd had his first time with a girl when he was fifteen, and then he'd slept with the same girl again when he was seventeen and struggling not to come out to his family, and then he'd break up with her, and he would go off to college and experimentation would take on a whole new meaning. "Thank you," Toshiro said, and they untangled from one another.

"That's a first," Ichigo smiled, but Toshiro went to his pants and pulled another cigarette out of his pocket. Then Ichigo frowned as he lit it and pulled it out of his lips. "Don't."

Toshiro looked lost at first, but then he nodded. "You should get dressed, they're going to be wondering where you went." He said.

"I'll go back in with you." Ichigo smiled and threaded their hands together, Toshiro smiled faintly for a moment and then shook his head.

"What will the media think? They'll say you forced me to sleep with you to get the part, and that I had to keep sleeping with you to keep you happy." He said, and Ichigo saw that Toshiro was in that far off place again, where he was a self above himself, and Ichigo realized he had been the one to put the young man there.

"Yeah," Ichigo said, and he stood nude. "I guess."

He pulled his clothes on while Toshiro watched with an admiring glance and the actor just sat there, smiling that faint smile that was barely touching his face, bathed in moonlight and sweat and sea mist and tears. Ichigo's heart broke slightly staring at that face and he leaned down and kissed Toshiro's lips again. "We have to do this again." He said, and Toshiro only nodded. Then Ichigo walked out of the alcove and back over to The Grove slowly, and was just in time for a speech from Aizen, where the handsome producer pointed to him and Ichigo waved to everyone, they all applauded and Ichigo gave his own far off smile as the sounds of flashbulbs hit his ears, and the blinding pop of lights hit his eyes.

He was famous. But it didn't feel as good as he thought it would have and he couldn't find the white haired actor anywhere after he'd gotten back.

* * *

The movie was a success, and a huge one at that. It was being called "The Best Movie of The Year, of The Millennium, of This And Any Other Decade" and Ichigo was very flattered that production on another one of his scripts had already been picked up by a Mr. Steven Spielberg, and Michael Bay's assistant had called his phone earlier that day asking for the rights to anything Ichigo had lying around, and Ichigo found that he was in the industry now.

But at that moment he was sitting in his living room with his family, the phone on silent, just watching the news. He never knew how much he wanted to get away from it all till it started getting to where he couldn't walk outside without people blinding him with their cameras, or someone wanting him to read their screenplay. He sighed and sat back in the couch of his parent's home, because people wouldn't look for him here. Then something struck him as strange on the television, "In other news," The anchorwoman said, with an indistinguishable face, and long straight brown—or was it blonde?—hair, in a monotonous and practiced voice. "Wildly popular actor and humanitarian Toshiro Hitsugaya was found dead in his 40 thousand square foot home earlier today. He was twenty-three. Officials aren't giving any comments or testimonies, but overdose is speculated to be the cause of the mysterious and certainly unexpected death of the young entrepreneur, more on this story later tonight at eleven."

Ichigo blinked at the television. He had a date with Toshiro in a few days, he'd spoken to Toshiro less than twenty four hours ago. "Hitsugaya?" Isshin, his father asked. "Isn't that one of the actors from your movie Ichigo? Ichigo?" But Ichigo was crying before he knew he was crying, and he was staring at the screen, hoping that the unidentifiable news bitch would come back on and say it was all just a joke, that she was some unsightly fuck and thought it'd be funny to see his reaction. But a sprightly weatherman was forecasting a sunny day tomorrow and Ichigo stood up and walked to his room.

He cried, and he cried. But it just didn't seem real to him, and he hoped, no, he prayed that this time, just this once, that what was going on was actually just a dream. _They expect it from us_. Toshiro's voice rang in his mind, and he knew now that the young man had been planning it all along, and somehow that made Ichigo cry even harder. Then he went over to his phone and he picked it up. He dialed the number with his fingers shaking and sobs wracking his body.

"Hey," The voice on the other end of the phone said and Ichigo's heart began racing, and he smiled like a wild man, he knew it couldn't have been true, not in the least. Toshiro wouldn't do that, he couldn't do that. Sure the world was getting to be a lot for the young man, but that night, with Ichigo, he was sure they'd worked out something, shared some kind of connection.

"Toshi—"

"I can't answer my phone right now, you know what to do." _Beep_. Ichigo hung up and called back, but he got the same results. "Hey," Toshiro's voice said in his ear and he cried again, it couldn't be true, Toshiro wouldn't do something like this! He couldn't…

Ichigo closed his phone, but the moment he did it rang. He looked at the front and felt a wave of disappointment as he read Aizen's name across the screen. "Yes?" He asked into the receiver.

"Toshiro's dead, if you hadn't heard the news." Aizen said.

Ichigo was quiet for a beat, then he whispered, "I know."

"Shit." Aizen cursed. "What the fuck was he thinking? The press is going to be all over our asses for this, did he say anything to you when you two disappeared the other week from the party?"

"No."

"Come on Ichigo, something had to have happened, you were both covered in sand and you smelled like the ocean. Did you two get into a fight or something? I need something to tell those vultures."

"You're going to try to blame his death on me?" Ichigo asked, feeling anger lick up inside of him.

"No," Aizen sighed. "I'm sorry. I just—the kid left me high and dry here. We had a contract, he was supposed to star in four more movies with my company before I turned him back over to the free agents."

"Aizen." Ichigo said in a tight voice. "He's dead. He's dead and you're worried about your fucking movies?"

"You wouldn't understand Ichigo, you're new to the scene—"

"We had sex," Ichigo huffed.

"What?"

"We had sex, is that what you want to know? Me and Toshiro, that's what we went to do, down on the beach, and I thought he liked me, and we were going to go on a date on Wednesday and who the hell kills themselves on a Monday anyway?" Ichigo couldn't stop the words. "Fuck! He said he would see me again, He said—" Then he stopped ass another sob broke his words and he was babbling.

"Ichigo," Aizen said. "Calm down, it'll be okay."

"It'll be okay?" Ichigo asked. "How can you say that? He killed himself."

"We don't know that for sure," Aizen lied, and Ichigo could hear the lie, he could hear the blatancy and practiced ease with which Aizen could lie, and he envisioned the producer smiling down into a sea of microphones, speaking in his powerful and commanding voice, telling the media things that weren't true _because they were expected of him_. That thought made Ichigo sick to his stomach suddenly. "That's not the only reason I'm calling," Aizen said. "I wasn't sure what your relationship with Toshiro was before, but I thought maybe you'd like to go to the wake."

Ichigo spoke before thinking. "Yes."

"Alright, I'll have someone pick you up tomorrow, wear something black." Then, without any precursor, the line went dead and Ichigo just stared at his phone then he put it down and sunk into a deep depression. That night when he went to sleep he had a dream, a dream that he desperately wished were true.

It went like this, as he slept there was a small weight that sat down on his bed and a small, cold, bone white hand that rested on his naked shoulder. Normally he was a heavy sleeper, but this time he woke up to that hand and a smile that he had discovered was more serene in death than in life. "Hi," Toshiro said.

"You left," Was the first thing Ichigo said when he opened his mouth, then he thought about that and said, "hi."

"I'm sorry," Toshiro said, moving Ichigo over in the sheets and curling up beside him, he smelt like the surf, and his skin was ice cold to the touch, but Ichigo wrapped his arms around him either way. "I never told you that I was grateful that you let me be in your movie."

"I don't care about the damn movie, Toshiro." Ichigo said and squeezed the dead actor tighter, afraid if he let go that he would dissolve into thin air. He found little comfort in this night visit, in fact, it unsettled him all the more.

"Ichigo," Toshiro said again and turned over to face him. "I couldn't stay, not in this horrible, fascist, racist, sexist, greedy society, you saw the real me, unsure and wanting to be consoled, but that hour still didn't make up for a lifetime of pain and suffering, I could feel the world dying Ichigo, I could feel the earth being tortured, and I couldn't take it anymore."

Then Ichigo knew why Toshiro had become an actor. Maybe, he thought, if he immersed himself in those roles of other people's lives that he wouldn't have to live one for himself, wouldn't have to hurt, Toshiro had told him something to the effect of hating movies, but he didn't hate being someone new—at least for a little while. "You could have at least said good-bye."

"Good-bye." Toshiro said and Ichigo could remember the feel of their lips together, and this just wasn't it, and with that kiss he knew he was dreaming and he pulled back.

"Let me sleep." He said.

Toshiro got out of his bed and pulled a cigarette out of his front pocket. Even in Ichigo's dreams. "I'm sorry again, sorry to have led you on." Then he just walked out of Ichigo's room, no disappearing, no ghostly apparation, he just left. And Ichigo closed his eyes and he dreamt no more.

The thing about wakes and funeral is that they are times for families and friends to come and cry and grieve over their deceased loved ones. But, in this small gathering there was one woman, no taller than four feet with crow's feet gathered at her eyes, and long, straight white hair falling limply around her shoulders. Then there was Ichigo and Aizen, and in the back pew of the Protestant church was one drunk Rangiku Matsumoto.

"Mrs. Hitsugaya, we're sorry for your loss," Aizen said, the woman looked up at him she had two different colored eyes, one was ocean blue, and the other was a bright hazel. Her forehead was creased and age sagged at her face very faintly, she was forty-five at the oldest.

"You were always such a good man to him, Mr. Sosuke." Toshiro's mother said. "Thank you." Then the funeral director poked his head into the sanctuary and motioned for her to come. She excused herself and walked away in her muted pastel colored dress, her white heels not making a sound at all on the floor. Ichigo looked into the casket at the immaculately dressed deceased man looking back up at the world and he found himself unable to cry anymore. He reached out and touched Toshiro's face, surprising himself to find that it felt like it always had, he wasn't cold, there was no temperature to the skin at all really, and Toshiro looked as if he were sleeping, hand crossed over his chest and a look Ichigo had never seen on the young man's face met him head on. Peace. He looked peaceful.

"Good-bye," Ichigo said, and he leaned down and pressed his lips against Toshiro's lightly, and Ichigo left that place and he went on to live his life, making movies and meeting new people, and he lived each moment like it was a new one, and he wrote each script, and even acted in some movies like he found the very thought of doing just those things the most exciting moments in the world. Of course he missed the mysterious white haired young man like mad, but he would wonder what he ever really knew about Toshiro, and that made him think of how people fell in love but never really knew the real person they were so desperate to be with.

He wondered, if he'd learned of Toshiro's insecurities, and his weaknesses, if he would still have felt what he felt multiplied in the actor's death if he were still alive. He decided that it was best not to diminish the image of him though, so he only remembered him fondly, and he could only hope that Toshiro would watch down on him, because surely he had become a Hollywood angel.


End file.
